


You Bring the Magic

by Seraph_Novak



Series: Destiel One-Shots [44]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood Memories, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Flirting, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mistletoe, One Shot, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Post Christmas, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraph_Novak/pseuds/Seraph_Novak
Summary: Taking down the Christmas decorations brings back childhood memories for Dean - both good and bad. Luckily, Castiel is there to comfort him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel One-Shots [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/351392
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	You Bring the Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I know it's been over a year since I last wrote Destiel, but I assure you my love for them has never faltered... I had to take a step back from this fandom, due to some not-so-nice experiences with toxic fans, but I've re-taken the plunge in light of this being the last season of Supernatural. I'm currently juggling work and study, so I doubt I'll be very active at all, but I hope to write at least a few more fics for my favourite guys before the show comes to an end. I even have a multi-chaptered fic I've been wanting to write for ages that I might actually get done... Who knows! For now, I'm just happy to be back. 
> 
> As always, all comments and kudos are very much appreciated ♥
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://seraph-novak.tumblr.com/)

Despite the endless wards and protective spells cloaking the bunker from external dangers, the first thing that comes to Castiel’s mind when he opens his bedroom door, roused by a peculiar chorus of clunking and rustling, is this: there’s an intruder afoot. He follows the noise into the library, angel blade poised to make the swift transition from his sleeve to his palm, and instead finds Dean poking around the Christmas tree, his back to Castiel. He waits a moment, quietly watching from afar, then emerges from around the corner, pointedly stomping his feet as he comes down the steps.

Dean startles, his eyes suspiciously bright as he turns to face him. There’s a thinning rope of red tinsel wrapped loosely around his palm, and his clothes are speckled with glitter and synthetic pine needles. Beside him, sitting on the end of the table, is an over-stuffed box of Christmas decorations, freshly stripped from the bunker’s every nook and cranny. The tree that was strung with blinking lights and glistening baubles just a few hours ago is now almost completely bare; the only splash of colour against the forest green is the golden-robed cherub perched on the very top of the tree, mocking Castiel with its brandished wings of silver-flecked white. Dean follows his curious gaze, mouth snapping shut, and waves a hand at the tree.

“Almost half-way through January now,” he says curtly, shrugging his tinsel-draped shoulders in a forced display of nonchalance. “About time we took this stuff down, don’t ya think?”

Castiel hums in mild agreement. There’s a stuffiness to Dean’s voice that confirms his former suspicions, the thickness of held-back tears slurring the edge of his words just so. He hates seeing Dean upset, especially when he doesn’t know the source of his sadness. Prying thoughts out of Dean’s mind is much like the gruesome game of extracting bodily organs that Jack insisted they play on Christmas morning a few weeks ago; it’s a slow and careful process that must be handled with extreme sensitivity. One wrong move, and it’s game over, so to speak.

“You liked having the decorations up,” he ventures cautiously, injecting as much casualness into the question as possible.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches. He regards Castiel for a moment, then flicks a glance back at the naked tree. Again, his voice is slightly strained as he begins to talk, his throat shifting up and down.

“Used to hate seeing ‘em go as a kid,” he says. “I’d come downstairs one morning, and the tree would just be gone. Mom used to tell me the elves had taken it back to the North Pole until next Christmas.” He huffs a laugh. “Never once caught her in the act... I guess she wanted me to believe in something good. Better Christmas elves than fucking vampires, ya know?”

Castiel takes a step closer, ready to offer comfort if his next move backfires. “You said you never celebrated Christmas as a child.”

Dean tightens his grip on the tinsel, a strand of metallic red drifting to the ground. He looks back at Castiel with hollow eyes and shrugs once more. “Not after mom died, no. First Christmas without her was way too soon. Dad was a mess; we didn’t have a home. And after that well, well... Let’s just says the elves don’t visit motel rooms.”

At Castiel’s prompting gaze, Dean continues softly. “It wasn’t the same without her. Even if we had a proper house and a proper tree, it wouldn’t be Christmas. Not really.” He sucks in a deep, contemplative breath. “But Sammy didn’t know the difference. Mom died before his first Christmas, so... Crappy motels and gas station gifts is all he ever knew. It might sound half-assed, but... The little squirt loved it.” He slides the coiled tinsel off his hand, tying the dangling end into a gentle loop to keep it together, then places it inside the box. “I realised pretty quickly there’s no such thing as magic elves and flying reindeer. It was always mom. She brought the magic, ya know? And with dad gone most of the time, it was up to me to do the same for Sammy. Not that I ever got it right...”

“You did the best you could,” Castiel tells him. “No child should ever be put in that position in the first place. You became both a brother and a father when you were just four years old, Dean. You’ve been looking after the people you love your entire life, always carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders so your friends and family won’t have to... Don’t you think Mary would be proud?”

Dean scoffs. “This isn’t the life she wanted for us, man.”

“But it’s the life you were given, and you’ve always tried to make the best of it.” He gives the tree a pointed glance, his eyebrows raised. “You managed to bring magic to a world that’s writhing with darkness, much like your mother did. I know for a fact she’d be proud of this tree, at the very least.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a watery smile gracing his lips. “She was a beauty, that’s for sure. Sucks to see her go so soon.”

“She’ll be back next Christmas,” Castiel assures him lightly, “when the elves are done with her.”

Dean grins at him, all bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. He’s a vision like this, when he allows himself a rare moment of genuine happiness. Castiel longs for the day when such smiles are no longer a luxury for him, when peace and joy are finally the norm. Until then, he’ll settle for these moments, so brief and delicate in their passing. He’ll hold onto them in his heart and do his best to keep them coming, no matter what it takes. For Dean, there’s very little he wouldn’t do.

After a beat of silence, Dean discreetly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and gestures at the angel still sitting on the top of the tree. “You, uh... You wanna do the honours?”

Castiel obliges, reaching up and carefully wrangling the angel from its month-long position amongst the plastic leaves. It looks even more ridiculous up close: its cheeks are obnoxiously round and ruddy, a small swatch of fluffy yellow hair squashed beneath a glittering halo, and it’s wearing a long, golden dress fringed with discoloured sequins that Castiel wouldn’t be seen dead in. He thumbs the velvet wings distastefully, a frown indenting the spot between his brows.

“This is a highly inaccurate depiction of celestial beings,” he murmurs.

Dean laughs at that – actually _laughs_ – and bumps their shoulders together. “I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute. All it needs now is a ratty trenchcoat and a backwards tie.”

He shoots a knowing look at Castiel, a spark of possibility igniting the air between them. They’ve been sharing moments like this for a while now, ever since Dean prayed to him in Purgatory and all but confessed his true feelings. Things got particularly messy soon after, with Chuck showing up and causing his usual destruction, so they never got a chance to really talk about what happened. But then, all of a sudden, they won. Chuck was gone, and the world was the most peaceful it had been since before the apocalypse. There were no more obstacles in their way, no more excuses to keep putting off the inevitable... And yet, here they are, still engaged in this tiresome routine of dancing around their feelings and pretending they’re both still satisfied with the current state of their relationship. The promise of something more is a dangerous, tantalising concept that Castiel’s not quite sure how to ask for, not without scaring Dean away for good.

“I meant what I said,” he whispers, his hand reaching out to touch Dean’s shoulder before he can talk himself out of it. When Dean doesn’t flinch away, he slides his hand down his arm instead, his fingers brushing the startled flutter of his pulse. “Mary would be proud of you, Dean. Immeasurably so.”

Dean’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, a nervous habit that Castiel has become familiar with over the years. He sneaks a glance at the hand on his wrist, pulse leaping accordingly, then looks back at Castiel, his eyes brimming with a certain something that makes his heart trip over itself.

“Thanks, Cas.”

When the silence becomes unbearable, and Castiel is contemplating just grabbing his face and kissing him senseless, like they often do in all those romantic movies Dean secretly loves, gravity decides to play a cruel joke: the box of decorations sitting halfway over the edge of the table begins to tilt forward, swayed by a rogue bauble rolling loose and reaching the opposite side of the box, and falls in an explosion of plastic shards between their feet. It happens so quickly that neither of them has time to react, their reflexes weakened in favour of staring at each other, and Dean catches his hand on the shattered edge of a bauble flying through the air.

“Ah, shit,” he winces, a bead of blood already springing to the surface.

Castiel crunches through the mess and takes his hand, carefully turning it over in his own and brushing his thumb over the shallow gash. Dean watches him breathlessly as he threads their fingers together and gives his hand a gentle squeeze, a warm rush of power thrumming between them. With his grace still depleted, the gesture leaves him a little light-headed, but he doesn’t care. Anything to keep Dean safe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dean says, their palms still pressed together. “It was just a scratch.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, _I_ mind! You’re not strong enough to go healing people willy-nilly, Cas. You’ve gotta look out for yourself now and again!”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “We’ve had this conversation a dozen times, Dean. You’re never going to convince me to not ease your pain whenever it’s within my power to do so. You’re too important to me.”

At that, Dean’s expression softens, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Another blinding smile illuminates his face, and Castiel can feel his chest stirring with warmth at the sight. Two smiles less than five minutes apart? That’s more than just a rarity. It’s a _miracle_. He’s wondering how he can coax a third one out of him when Dean breaks the silence once again. 

“Mom had a real thing about angels back when I was a kid... She used to tell me they were watching over me.” He sweeps a thumb across Castiel’s knuckles, eyes blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. “I guess she was right, huh?”

Castiel smiles. “I suppose she was.”

He suspects they’re about to lapse into another moment of heated silence, their eyes never straying from the other’s face, but Dean surprises him by taking a step forward and clearing his throat instead.

“There’s, uh... There’s another Christmas tradition I’ve always wanted to try,” he tells him, voice wobbling with vulnerability. “I know we’ve done the tree, and the turkey, and the presents... The whole shebang, really. But there’s this thing they always do in the movies – I remember seeing my folks do it once, before Sammy came along. They looked so damn happy, ya know?” He smiles at the memory, eyes going misty for a moment, then bends down to pick something up from the wreckage beneath their feet. It’s a small, green plant studded with white flowers, and Dean holds it above their heads with pinkened cheeks and a quivering smile. “It’d be kinda weird to try it out with Sam, so...”

Castiel tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a squeak. He’d probably be embarrassed if he weren’t so enthralled by the image of Dean standing before him, presenting the piece of mistletoe like an invitation he was starting to think he’d never receive. If angels could dream, this is what he’d dream about: Dean, wanting and willing to take the next step forward, to give this – whatever _this_ is – a proper chance. He doesn’t realise how long he’s been standing there, staring in pure wonderment, until Dean awkwardly lowers his arm.

“You know what I’m getting at, right?” he asks, the beginnings of fear and doubt creeping back into his eyes.

Castiel answers him with a kiss.

Dean elicits a surprised yelp that soon melts into a whimper, then a happy moan that tickles his lips and rumbles down his throat. He pulls him closer, hands fisted in the short strands of honey brown hair at the back of his head, and Dean responds by cupping his face with a hungry growl that has their teeth clashing together. If Sam or Eileen – or God forbid _Jack_ – were to walk in now, they’d never live it down. But the bunker is quiet, save for the gentle hiss of their clothes brushing against each other; Sam and Eileen are off on a hunt somewhere in Colorado, and Jack is assisting Amara with heavenly duties, so it’s just the two of them. This is their moment, and theirs alone. Even when Dean pulls away a few minutes later, breathless and giddy as he presses their foreheads together, Castiel is buzzing with want and love and a thousand other emotions… For the first time in almost eight years, he feels like he’s flying.

“I like this tradition very much,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose for good measure.

Dean exhales shakily. “Yeah. It’s, uh… It’s a keeper, alright.”

He’s smiling again, cheeks softly dimpled and glowing with happiness. It’s the most beautiful thing Castiel has ever seen. He can’t resist sliding his hands down his body, until they’re settled on the small of his back, and stroking his skin through the thin fabric of his black shirt. Dean shivers at the touch, heat rushing back to his cheeks. It’s both endearing and alluring, and Castiel just _knows_ he’s going to spend the rest of the day mapping every single freckle on Dean’s face with his lips. The thought alone makes his heart swell with fondness.

“I couldn’t agree more.”


End file.
